Lia Moceri Dr. Jay Fogleman EDC 102H 07 September 2012 Personal Expertise On March 3, 2000, I approached the wide viewing window at the Women and Infants Hospital nursery with my father, as my mother lay exhausted in her room. I peered into the room with my six-year-old eyes, scanning the rows and rows of newborn babies looking for the one with whom I shared DNA. The nurse checked my father’s wristband and rolled out the trolley labeled “Moceri”. Inside the clear plastic bassinet, sleeping on her stomach in a onezie, was the baby girl I could call my sister. The girl who I would watch “Dora the Explorer” and School of Rock with, color with to develop her fine motor skills, and jump on the bed for hours with to the same Avril Lavigne song. She was the first child in my life with whom I felt truly connected. Attribute it to our relationship as siblings, but since the point of my sister’s birth, my connection to children has continued to blossom. I have been able to develop friendships with younger cousins, children of family friends, as well as children I've just met. While other individuals my age sometimes struggle with connecting with kids, I consider interacting with children to be my personal expertise.
Some of the children that I have grown closest to were the younger dancers on the competitive dance team that I was a member of. Their ages spanned from five to thirteen and, despite the years between us, they have become some of my closest friends. We spent up to ten hours a week together, sometimes four hours straight just on Saturday mornings alone, throughout most of the year. During our time together, we would share meals, watch other dances, have water gun fights, play ball, and commiserate about the lack of air conditioning in the studio. The little ones greeted me every day at rehearsal with a hug and told me excitedly every detail of their eventful elementary school lives. The older ones and I have an even deeper relationship. I befriended them the day they joined the team as small children and watched them grow into more mature dancers and girls. We could confide in each other without the judgment of our peers. When the stress of dance or school was affecting me, their mocking impressions of bad dancers and attempts at complicated hip-hop steps reversed my mood completely.
However strong my friendships were with these girls over the years, I still had not realized their true magnitude until my last dance recital. By tradition, at the conclusion of the recital, a speech is given about each of the graduating seniors by their peers reminiscing about shared memories and congratulating them about their passage onto college. It is always an emotional part of the recital for the whole team, however, this year it was even more touching for me. The speech presented about me not only brought tears to my eyes, but also to the eyes of the younger girls I had grown close to. Together, we cried for a half hour after the show ended, mourning our upcoming separation. They presented me with handmade cards and photos for my dorm so that I would be reminded of our friendships. Since then, many of them have expressed, that I was an inspirational figure in their lives, an honor so immense it is indescribable.
Not only have I been a mentor to children, but they have also been an inspiration to me, teaching me lessons my own friends could not. Three of the most influential kids I have ever met are ten-year-old prematurely born triplets, named Madison, Victoria, and Jake. Around the two girls, one can never feel alone. At the pool club we belong to, we eat lunches together and chat about our personal lives as if we were lifelong friends. As kids, they are more accepting of me as a person than any other one of my peers. Perhaps it comes from living with their brother Jake, who is both mentally and physically disabled. I was one of the few people, outside of his family and social workers, who was able to connect with him on a deeper level. It is remarkable to see him light up when he sees me and we have a chance to talk. I am always amazed by his ability to recite my phone number and birthday from memory, when he cannot even remember the names of other teenagers around the club. Furthermore, the fact that the triplets clung to my leg and begged me not to leave the whole night before I moved into college confirms the fact that children and I simply connect.
My previously mentioned relationships with children have involved those that I spend a large amount of time with. But, what came as a surprise and reaffirmed my ability to connect with kids in a way many others cannot, was my encounter with a child named Aurora, whom I met only once. She is a child my friend babysits whom I had unexpectedly met on the bike path one afternoon. Although she was initially quiet, after about fifteen minutes of watching the ants on the pavement and commenting on their peculiar habits, I was granted access into the curious world of this young girl. We later jumped on a trampoline, ran through a sprinkler and relaxed in a hammock for the rest of the afternoon. My friend, her babysitter, was amazed at how easily we connected despite our differences in age.
What exactly makes me an expert with children is uncertain. It might be all of the practice I've had. It might be that I make them feel important with my willingness to engage. It might be that I never lost the love of fun that children possess. However, it is unquestionable that I want my work with children to continue. This is reflected in my chosen major of education, where directly working with youth occurs every day in an important aspect of their lives. As a young adult who would rather watch cartoons with her younger cousins than enjoy nightlife with older family, I will continue to use my expertise with children to become the teacher who cares about students on a personal level, rather than just be a figure of knowledge and authority.
Dr. Jay Fogleman
EDC 102H
07 September 2012
Personal Expertise
On March 3, 2000, I approached the wide viewing window at the Women and Infants Hospital nursery with my father, as my mother lay exhausted in her room. I peered into the room with my six-year-old eyes, scanning the rows and rows of newborn babies looking for the one with whom I shared DNA. The nurse checked my father’s wristband and rolled out the trolley labeled “Moceri”. Inside the clear plastic bassinet, sleeping on her stomach in a onezie, was the baby girl I could call my sister. The girl who I would watch “Dora the Explorer” and School of Rock with, color with to develop her fine motor skills, and jump on the bed for hours with to the same Avril Lavigne song. She was the first child in my life with whom I felt truly connected. Attribute it to our relationship as siblings, but since the point of my sister’s birth, my connection to children has continued to blossom. I have been able to develop friendships with younger cousins, children of family friends, as well as children I've just met. While other individuals my age sometimes struggle with connecting with kids, I consider interacting with children to be my personal expertise.
Some of the children that I have grown closest to were the younger dancers on the competitive dance team that I was a member of. Their ages spanned from five to thirteen and, despite the years between us, they have become some of my closest friends. We spent up to ten hours a week together, sometimes four hours straight just on Saturday mornings alone, throughout most of the year. During our time together, we would share meals, watch other dances, have water gun fights, play ball, and commiserate about the lack of air conditioning in the studio. The little ones greeted me every day at rehearsal with a hug and told me excitedly every detail of their eventful elementary school lives. The older ones and I have an even deeper relationship. I befriended them the day they joined the team as small children and watched them grow into more mature dancers and girls. We could confide in each other without the judgment of our peers. When the stress of dance or school was affecting me, their mocking impressions of bad dancers and attempts at complicated hip-hop steps reversed my mood completely.
However strong my friendships were with these girls over the years, I still had not realized their true magnitude until my last dance recital. By tradition, at the conclusion of the recital, a speech is given about each of the graduating seniors by their peers reminiscing about shared memories and congratulating them about their passage onto college. It is always an emotional part of the recital for the whole team, however, this year it was even more touching for me. The speech presented about me not only brought tears to my eyes, but also to the eyes of the younger girls I had grown close to. Together, we cried for a half hour after the show ended, mourning our upcoming separation. They presented me with handmade cards and photos for my dorm so that I would be reminded of our friendships. Since then, many of them have expressed, that I was an inspirational figure in their lives, an honor so immense it is indescribable.
Not only have I been a mentor to children, but they have also been an inspiration to me, teaching me lessons my own friends could not. Three of the most influential kids I have ever met are ten-year-old prematurely born triplets, named Madison, Victoria, and Jake. Around the two girls, one can never feel alone. At the pool club we belong to, we eat lunches together and chat about our personal lives as if we were lifelong friends. As kids, they are more accepting of me as a person than any other one of my peers. Perhaps it comes from living with their brother Jake, who is both mentally and physically disabled. I was one of the few people, outside of his family and social workers, who was able to connect with him on a deeper level. It is remarkable to see him light up when he sees me and we have a chance to talk. I am always amazed by his ability to recite my phone number and birthday from memory, when he cannot even remember the names of other teenagers around the club. Furthermore, the fact that the triplets clung to my leg and begged me not to leave the whole night before I moved into college confirms the fact that children and I simply connect.
My previously mentioned relationships with children have involved those that I spend a large amount of time with. But, what came as a surprise and reaffirmed my ability to connect with kids in a way many others cannot, was my encounter with a child named Aurora, whom I met only once. She is a child my friend babysits whom I had unexpectedly met on the bike path one afternoon. Although she was initially quiet, after about fifteen minutes of watching the ants on the pavement and commenting on their peculiar habits, I was granted access into the curious world of this young girl. We later jumped on a trampoline, ran through a sprinkler and relaxed in a hammock for the rest of the afternoon. My friend, her babysitter, was amazed at how easily we connected despite our differences in age.
What exactly makes me an expert with children is uncertain. It might be all of the practice I've had. It might be that I make them feel important with my willingness to engage. It might be that I never lost the love of fun that children possess. However, it is unquestionable that I want my work with children to continue. This is reflected in my chosen major of education, where directly working with youth occurs every day in an important aspect of their lives. As a young adult who would rather watch cartoons with her younger cousins than enjoy nightlife with older family, I will continue to use my expertise with children to become the teacher who cares about students on a personal level, rather than just be a figure of knowledge and authority.